Relaxing weekend in Toubab Dialaw

The weekend before this past weekend we left campus at 9:30 on Saturday and drove about 3 hours (60 milesish) to Toubab Dialaw, an artisan community just outside of Dakar. In and of itself there’s not a lot to write about Toubab Dialaw. We stayed in guesthouses right on the beach. I roomed with my friends Liz, Shaina, and Rachel. Prior to departure we all chose one of three lessons to take (dancing, drumming, or batik). Most people, including me, chose batik because we have the opportunity for drumming and dancing lessons here in Dakar.

Batik is the process of painting wax on fabric to keep it from being colored by dye. With each new dye a new layer of wax is added to protect whatever isn’t to be colored. My batik ended up being orange, red, and white. Several people included quotes of some sort on theirs. Those of us who did batik painted the first layer of wax on Saturday afternoon then the second layer Sunday morning. It’s a really fun thing to do! The other great thing about doing batik rather than dancing or drumming was that I now have a concrete product to bring home with me.

The real charm of Toubab Dialaw is that it was simply relaxing. We had great food and in the evening there was a drumming and dancing performed for us. Afterwards several of us went down to the beach and lay in a circle with our heads together. It was like a mini-slumber party. In the distance we could see the lights of Dakar (as one girl remarked, you’d never know from that view that Dakar is a city with such frequent powercuts). When we looked up, we saw the stars. So many stars. We were all together but for a moment we were all quiet and I know I was thinking about how incredible it is that I’m here and how in spite of cold showers, frequent power cuts, and food I don’t love, I could not have made a better choice when deciding my study abroad destination.

Last week on Wednesday we had no classes because it was the prophet’s birthday. This week we are on spring break. Many of my friends have chosen to go to other places in Senegal or the Gambia. I even have a friend who is in London. But I decided to stay in Dakar to rest and get ahead on some work before the end of the semester can sneak up on me (considering I’m already in my 6^th week here I think the end of the semester is going to arrive very quickly).

Jamm ak jamm. <3

Mishmash of thoughts before I write my Toubab Dialaw blog

I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t be thrilled to be told I could go home tomorrow instead of waiting for another three months. Having said that, I’m having a great semester so far. I know I’ve started falling in love with Dakar, Senegal, and my semester abroad because today I found out that Suffolk University will be closing its Dakar campus and I felt a loss. CIEE is looking to continue renting the space it currently occupies, but part of the experience here is participating in clubs with Suffolk students with whom we can bond and practice our linguistic skills. As I thought about it I realized I was sad because students in the future will not have this same experience, though they may have something different and just as rewarding, it won’t be this experience. My language partner is going to be taking the TOEFL exam and is hoping to be at Suffolk in August (which means we could continue communicating in person this fall!).

Just prior to leaving the United States and in my first week or two here I questioned if I had made the right choice. I questioned if giving up the familiarity of Europe for a country with unreliable infrastructure, food I knew I didn’t love (i.e. fish), and immersing myself in a country where I don’t have to say word to stand out because the color of my skin does that for me, was been worth it. I am confident that it was the right choice. Last Friday during my African drumming class local children came in and danced to the music we made and led us in a dance at the end of the lesson. On the way home from school today I walked through a crowd of people pitching tents on the side of the road to celebrate the prophet’s birthday (they’ll be praying all night and tomorrow is a national holiday). You pay 20 cents to ride a colorful and packed car rapide to your destination and look down realizing that you can see the road beneath the vehicle. The sense of community is reinforced every night as we all eat from the same bowl. These are things that simply would not have happened had I chosen to study in France or somewhere else in Europe. I could not have made a better choice.

I realize some of you may wonder what it’s like for me getting to school each day because that’s information I’ve come to take for granted. I walk to school each day and it takes me about half an hour. I turn left out of my house passing the UN, a hotel, a little bookstore, and various street venders. I then cross the street and cross the street a few more times, working my way through the traffic of two traffic circles. Just as I reach the opposite side of the second circle there is a Catholic primary school. I walk along a busy road for a while passing several fruit stands, some clothing stores, a butcher, and a mechanic. I turn left just before a building under construction which is located right next to a DHL. I walk on that street for just a couple of minutes and turn right onto the next street where I pass the Cuban and Palestinian embassies and another primary school. At the end of that street is another fruit vender. Then I must turn left onto Rue Cheikh Anta Diop. There has been massive construction going on there since we got here and each day I’ve had to work around a different section of road being paved. On Cheikh Anta Diop I pass a Turkish restaurant, a flower store, the place where public transport vehicles are kept, a mechanic, and CIEE/Suffolk is located on the campus of École Nationale Économique Appliqué (ENEA).

<3

They’re a part of the family…at least they are in the United States

Perhaps I’m wrong but I think if you ask most people in the US about their childhood pet(s) they’ll have a lot to tell you. Even though there are a few people here and there who don’t like animals, you often hear people describe their dogs, cats, horses, bunnies, and more as “part of the family.” We invest arguably ridiculous amounts of money into their health and keeping them alive and when they die, we cry at our loss (which is in and of itself a strange concept in Senegal where emotions are to be kept in check and not publicly displayed.

There are the pets large and small that put up with children grabbing onto them, playing with their ears, paws, and tails, the pets who we would swear understood every word we said to them; the pets who ate more human food than pet food, the pets who fell asleep beside our head every night for 12 years, the pet that shared its incredible physical strength galloping across a field (clearly those are my pet memories). There are feral cats and stray dogs that I pass on my way to school but not enough to make me think about it and I knew that most of our host families do not have pets. I didn’t realize how foreign of a concept having a pet was until talking with Korka.

She was telling me the story of an American friend she had met online who came to visit Senegal. The girl was staying at a hotel but it was getting expensive. In the spirit of hospitality that Senegal is famous for, Korka’s family invited the girl to stay with them. What the girl didn’t tell them was that she had picked up a stray cat while here and was bringing it with her. Apparently the cat created quite the ruckus in the house and was not the most popular inhabitant. I don’t know exactly how to describe the expression of surprise and confusion on Korka’s face when I told her about our animal cruelty laws (then further explaining that though American culture doesn’t approve of beating animals whipping horses for example does happen and isn’t necessarily perceived as bad).

One of the things that struck me most about our discussion about animals was that just prior we had talked about “terranga.” She recounted how she didn’t believe her father when he first told her that you can’t just knock on somebody’s door in the US, not knowing them, and expect to be welcomed in and given food and shelter like could happen here. Only when her brother, who currently lives in Boston, confirmed this did she believe it. Why is it that we give animals such a high role in our lives, elevating them to the status of family, some people to such an extreme level as leaving them money but as a society we are unwilling to literally open our door to somebody from away who needs food and a place to stay because they are in a foreign place? I love the animals in my life and childhood as much as the next American and would never consider treating them as unimportant, but how can we justify not treating other people, other humans as part of our family when we share so much more in common with them?

Thththat’s all folks!

p.s. While on the subject of animals…I followed some cows on my way to school Monday morning for part of the way. They were just meandering. I’m pretty sure no person was with them but they were just walking down the street and turned very nicely as a group down a side street.

A couple pictures in case you can't/haven't looked through my facebook album

During orientation we learned how to eat "around the bowl" where 

all family members eat from one bowl.

Traditional Senegalese fishing boat being put in the water on Gorée Island

Me with Dakar in the background

Car rapide is a cheap (though not always rapid) way to get around the city. They cost only about $0.20 per ride

Here are just a few pictures of my semester so far!

Most Boys Are Players (and other conclusions reached with my language partner)

We don’t share classes with Suffolk students but there are clubs on campus are open to CIEE students, including a language partnership club. Over the next 13 weeks we will meet with our language partners twice a week, once individually and once with the rest of the club, to speak English, French, and Wolof. I have to admit that I was a tad nervous prior to my meeting today because my language partner, Korka, seemed to be about as shy as I am and I didn’t know how we would find things in common to talk about (as if it isn’t difficult to meet new people when they speak the same language). Of course I was nervous for no reason because people are people no matter where they come from, what language they speak, and what ethnicity you are.  

So put 2 college-aged girls together and they’re bound to come up with some topics in common and really, other than the occasional physical woes of being a girl, what’s more universal to girls than boys? None come to mind immediately and boys became a topic very quickly today. We both have had only one relationship and we compared and contrasted, coming to the conclusion that most boys are players and that what they say they’re okay with at the beginning of the relationship, quickly becomes not so okay. She told me how her mom had told her that all boys are players, except her father. Her father told her all boys are players.

She comes from the Seerer ethnic group and shared with me how one of her cousins wanted to marry her this past August during the Holy Days but she was not in love with him. She refused his proposal, which was a big deal in her family, but all along her mother supported her saying she should only marry somebody she loves. I am awed by her determination to date and marry only for love in a society that, though changing, is still very much dictated by tradition.

Family too is a universal theme that came up. We talked about how American families are so small compared to families here. She has 4 sisters (I think 4, she might have said 3) and a brother. She knows one family that is so large she said you walk into their home and it’s just bedroom after bedroom to fit everybody that lives in the home. We discussed all that our parents have done for us especially helping us to obtain an education and how we doubt there will ever be a way to truly repay them. She described her mom as “something special” and I imagine/hope the expression on her face of pure love and admiration is what people see on my face when I talk about my mom.

We ended up talking for an hour and a half and I’m already looking forward to the next time we meet with the rest of the group, on Wednesday. Her English is great, much better than my French. Today was the easy day (for me) speaking in English and reminded me that a common language is not necessary to have things in common. My next post: a minor thing that to many people is a really big difference between Senegalese families and American families.

Ba beneen yoon inshallah.

I had planned on writing this blog a week ago…

Now that classes have started time is flying by like you wouldn’t believe.  As I was writing my most recent blog I realized that I had not written a blog about our group’s visit to Gorée Island which, when visiting Dakar, is a must-see. If you’ve been looking through my pictures on facebook you’ve probably seen pictures of it but I didn’t explain the images or history thoroughly.

Gorée Island was essentially a processing center for enslaved Africans before leaving the African coast. The small island was filled with “slave houses” that would hold slaves for a brief period of time (most likely only a few days) before the slaves were put on ships headed for the Americas.   The slave houses were owned by European merchants or African elites and the slave trade became central to the island’s economy. The most famous of the slave houses is “La Maison Des Esclaves” which can still be visited today and is in nearly original condition.

La Maison Des Eslaves is divided into several rooms/cells. One cell was for children and young women who were still virgins. Another cell was for men. Another cell was for women. Two small cells that require bending over to fit into were punishment cells for any slaves who misbehaved or attempted to lead an uprising. Of course with the mass number of slaves processed there were usually more than a couple of slaves who “needed” to be punished and the objective of the slave house owners was to punish as many slaves as needed to be punished, not ensuring that they had space to breath. Time in those cells was generally limited to 1 or 2 days.

Slaves were weighed to ensure they were large enough to be sold at auction upon reaching the Americas. Men had to weigh about 125 lbs, women a bit less. If any slave was found to be too light to be sold they were kept on the island for three months and force fed. At the end of the three months they were weighed again. If they were heavy enough, they were put on the next ship out. If not, they were sold domestically to be slaves to the African elite.

For me, the most striking part of the slave house was “The Door of No Return.” This was where ships would pull up as close as they could to the rocks then extend a plank to the door. Slaves were then forced to walk the plank to the ship after which they were never heard from again. The slaves were chained together so that if one decided to jump and try to die on the rocky coastline other slaves would be forced to go down with him or her. Two guards stood at the door in an attempt to assure that no such thing would happen.

Most of Gorée island has turned into a rather touristy area. There are vendors all over the place selling carvings and paintings and postcards etc. There is a beach and a few restaurants. There are a few museums and some people live on the island. It’s a beautiful in spite of its dreadful history. If you are ever in Dakar, it is definitely a place you should visit.

TTFN my friends. 99 days from right now I shall be flying over the same ocean that millions of slaves crossed on ships and the African legacy of slavery will come home with me.

Thoughts from during a power outage

Monday was a bleh day personally but the week overall has been great. Power outrages were relatively rare this week (I can’t help but wonder if the problems throughout the Arab world and in a few other African countries might be to thank for that) and even more importantly I am starting to get settled in and finding a routine. Dakar, though certainly still foreign in MANY ways is becoming less intimidating. With patience, friends, and time, which is a loose concept here anyways, it’s possible to have great adventures out of what you initially think might be a boring day of classes. (Tip: buying things makes the transition easier as long as you spend within reason. It’s a great way to interact with locals, especially in a country like Senegal where haggling is part of the culture – I bought two paintings last weekend for only 6 bucks!)

The two classes I’m taking as electives started this week (my Atlantic Slave Trade professor was travelling and my History of Islam professor was sick so I had neither of those classes last week). Both professors are very impressive academically and I have no doubt I will be learning A LOT over the next three and a half months. In my Atlantic Slave Trade class I have a book report and a 10-15 page paper 1.5 spaced to write but I’m excited about that. My book is about the Middle Passage and I’m thinking about writing my paper about the impact on African elites after abolition (it’s easy to forget that Africans did profit from the slave trade).

Today made History of Islam worth the entire semester if I learn absolutely nothing else (which is highly unlikely). The class on Thursday is scheduled for 2:30-4:15. The professor, Dr. Kébé, asked us what time it was at about 3:45 and told us he had to leave at 4 because he had a student presenting. What he made a little less clear was that he wanted us to follow him so at 4 we all (all being 4 of the 5 people in the class) packed our bags and followed him to a car where he indicated we were to sit in the back. Squeezed very tightly in the back seat we took a short ride to Université Cheikh Anta Diop where his student was presenting.

When we got to the school there were seats saved for us in a room full of the student’s peers as well as local religious leaders. At 4:15 she started presenting what we later found out was a master’s dissertation about Islam in international organizations, followed by feed back Dr. Kebe, the president of the university, and the former president of Amnesty International in Senegal who is currently a professor at Cheikh Anta Diop and a member of the international board of Amnesty International out of London. After an hour it was determined that she had in fact passed.

We were invited to join the reception in the room next door afterwards and had our photo taken with her as well. We also met and spoke with the former president of Amnesty International in Senegal and that was just a bit more than exciting. Dr. Kebe offered us money to take a taxi back to campus but we declined and decided to walk. Ultimately we took a taxi back to campus because we got lost but I’m pretty sure we actually got a fair price (perhaps only a few hundred CFA above what we should have paid).

This afternoon in particular was certainly not what I expected when I walked in for my afternoon 2:30 class but with each passing day I’m discovering more and more that the Senegalese don’t feel bound to a particular schedule (or informing you of your role in it) and that can lead to fantastic experiences and meeting people that you might never meet otherwise. For somebody like me who likes to be in control, following others blindly is difficult but it is worth it to awkwardly follow your professor, squeeze in a back seat with three of your classmates, and listen to somebody you didn’t know existed two hours early.

All in all I think the weekend bodes well (in case I haven’t told you my school week goes only Monday thru Thursday…Friday is a free day so people who have internships can work on those).  Tomorrow I have the first of five African Drumming classes sometime in the evening and will take a walk around my neighborhood maybe buy an ice cream in the afternoon. Saturday I shall hopefully do most of my homework and Sunday if all goes well can be a day of complete relaxation.

TTFN!

p.s. I come home in 100 days! The time is flying by!

"My dad said find someone new"

Yesterday in my Senegalese Society and Culture class we talked about the caste system in Senegal (though caste is a very loose word to describe the social system here). Traditionally castes were divided into two groups: those who tradespeople or artisans who create products necessary (called Neeno) and the other is composed of those who are not in the first group (called Gér). Within Neeno there is a degree of hierarchy with blacksmiths being at the top, leather workers, woodworkers, and weavers below them, essentially performing artists - literally people who make a living off their voice - after that. Below singers there used to be another group that gave praise to people all the time but because it was thought they didn't speak the through they eventually died out and were integrated into the group above them. Each of these groups within Neeno and the Gér are very distinct and names or roles in ceremonies can indicate what group an individual belongs to. Of course, because of these distinctions, intermarriage was and is not particularly accepted.

Yesterday evening I was talking with my host mom about the lesson on castes. She passionately agreed that castes are very important and when her children were looking for boyfriends or girlfriends, she had to tell them that the person needed to be from the same caste otherwise there would be problems and it simply would not be possible for them to date that person. She also added that Islam is a religion about equality for women, children, and men. But nonetheless the importance of dating and marrying within one's caste is critical. I think perhaps this is not because of the idea that one group is superior to the other (though that exists within the neeno hierarchy) but more because all trades are important and need to be carried on by somebody.

In the United States I think we would like to believe that we are above such a "caste" system. But our careers/professions and those of our parents are important factors in forming our identity. "Rags to riches" is a phrase commonly heard. Although it manifests itself differently, we aren't really all that different. Perhaps I shall have more thoughts on this to share as my knowledge of Senegalese society and culture and Islam deepen.